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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010936">apologia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CYANE94/pseuds/CYANE94'>CYANE94</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dark, Death, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guardian Angels, Honor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Justice, M/M, MCD is imminent and it's not a spoiler tbfh, My sweet good boy, Once again I have an urge to destroy JK and I'm sorry for it, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, References to Depression, That's literally how the story starts, Trials, a shitton of angst, guardian angels au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:15:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CYANE94/pseuds/CYANE94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Apologia</b> <i>(noun):</i><br/>- A written defense of a position or belief.<br/>- Dialogue. Speech of legal self/defense.<br/>- Its goal is to support a person, an organization, or a cause.<br/><br/>   or<br/><br/>- The last of the Trials in Fterá, a Trial no one has ever gotten the chance to request, for they're only for traitors, and those are not even considered when it comes to Justice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun, Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. nothingness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/serensil/gifts">serensil</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started writing this in February after I handed my resignation to the first job I ever had as a professional, so I found myself jobless, tired, angry at myself and everything around me and decided I'd write something dark just to open my mental wounds and bleed a story through them.</p><p>(My creative process is either full of gummy bears or full of imagery like this.)</p><p>Apologia was born as a Porn With Plot prompt based solely on <i>Stigma</i> by BTS, but (as I always do, dammit) I extended it into something I lost control of as soon as I started working on it.</p><p>This is a new world, new creatures, and new lore I'll love to introduce to you once I get the right words.<br/>Here's a <a href="https://twitter.com/shampoofaeries/">visual thread</a> if you want to know more about the characters.</p><p>Read the tags, as I always say, and enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>You compare my light to the sky<br/></span>
  <span>Why do you try to make me better than the divine?<br/></span>
  <span>Isn't the same, don't give it a name<br/></span>
  <span>Let me remain, let me remain</span>
</p><p><b>ANGUS &amp; JULIA STONE: </b>Death Defying Acts</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>Frourés</em> exist to guard humans. They're bound to protect them every day of their lives, for they are to take their souls as soon as they die. Once that's done, they have to wait for their Trial of Grace where the Highest Leader, the <em>Protergati,</em> judges them. If they did wrong, they continue to exist, roaming until they get another call for the soul request they sign when their Trial ends, and it all begins again.</p><p>It should be easy. Many Frourés have accomplished their <strong>Trial of Grace</strong> without much thought, as if they were just passing by, unaware of the penalty they could get if they get caught of having wronged their humans at some point. Dedicated Frourés go through their Trials done as quick as a hummingbird's heartbeat, not knowing how they even made it, being judged by <em>Them</em> in a blink of an eye as if seeing through their wings and their minds, acknowledging their achievements, deeds, and goods without needing them to speak about them.</p><p>Even troublesome Frourés have managed to get their grace back when getting caught of having done something wrong or against the rules, accepting their fate and presenting their angelic bodies to another kind of Trial - unavoidable as they all are -; fearing the worst, they attend their <strong>Parley Trial</strong>, in which they're to debate with the worst kind of angels one could ever meet: the <em>Vasili</em>. Once they manage to convince them that what they did was unintentional, a rookie mistake, or a feathery-slip, they bend forwards when asked to, scribbling their signatures with their blood, promising good behavior, leaving the court with red warnings attached to their wings, warnings that could last two or three human lifetimes, depending on the mood they're in. Which is usually bad - everyone knows that.</p><p>Free, even with these warnings, they're ready to join the waiting list again, for guarding humans is a never-ending task. A mission they should be proud of. A fulfilled human life under their wings should fill them with pride: its beginning and ending give meaning to Frourés' existence. They should be thankful. That's what <em>His Highness, </em>the Protergati, always says.</p><p>But Taehyung has always thought differently.</p><p>Of course, he always has. He's never been the type that stays at home and does their deeds without asking why first.</p><p>Under his logic, it's not easy to just follow orders. He needs to know what lies under them. One thing is to rule from above and speak nonsense about <em>Love, Grace, and Power - </em>of course, that's easy to do - their hands, above, stay clean.</p><p>Being a Protergati or a Vasili must be nice. They're not Frourés. They never get to deal with human ambitions and life force. They don't know about the chances of seeing them fall in love, or the chances of changing their lifestyle abruptly since humans are a complicated thing to understand, let alone to take care of. They don't risk whatever physical integrity they have in a world that pays no mind to their winged body, unreal, invisible, but still capable of feeling, hurting, burning.</p><p>They have no fucking idea of what being a Frourá feels like.</p><p>But that's not even close to Taehyung's reason not to go back to <em>Fterá,</em> the city where he grew, the city where he belongs.</p><p>It's not the warnings he's scared of, for he knows he won't get any this time.</p><p>It's actually that, <em>time itself,</em> ruthlessly passing each day, the thing that reminds him he's late to his <strong>Trial of Grace</strong>, due 22 years ago, tainting his honor as a Frourá and granting him an <strong>Instant Punishment</strong> with no chance for the last kind of Trial there is - the <strong>Righteous Trial</strong> - a Trial he not only knows he doesn't want, but a Trial he knows he won't even get.</p><p>He knows what happens to Frourés that desert Fterá, staying on Earth longer than they should. That's what has been keeping him away all these years. For he's not guilty, he reminds himself. He's not.</p><p>He's just... in debt.</p><p>And in love.</p><p>And in so, so much pain.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. time of death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>What have I done</i>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jeon Jungkook stops breathing at 3:42 a.m.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loses consciousness shortly after, when every one of his senses starts to shut down, forgetting the day-by-day stuff he has repeated over and over for more than twenty years. Forgetting his name, his age, his address, and whatever reason he had to be outside at almost 4 in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every single thing he’s ever learned starts to sink, one by one, in that endless black sea that is his mind. Once vibrant with color, parodying an artist’s palette in the middle of an artistic breakthrough, it never really gave away hints of becoming obscure as a result of bad habits or his daredevil tendencies; he never had a reason to worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until now: getting thicker by the seconds, his mind starts to solidify itself inside his very core, stopping ideas and abilities altogether, turning them into dormant beasts about to enter into a long period of hibernation or, as humans usually call it, a coma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth remains open as well as his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears nothing. Tastes nothing. Sees nothing, but the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Placing a dark coat above his chest, kneeling before his body and keeping him company while he fights against death herself, a drunk driver holds his right hand and starts screaming for help, his voice muffled by the roaring of the flames coming from his car, crashed minutes ago against a wall and a trash can, a perfect place for a person to light a cigarette and let time pass with no worries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looks around still screaming until he notices the hand he’s holding, the arm it’s supposed to be attached to, realizing it’s broken and wounded way, way worse than the ways he could ever think as </span>
  <em>
    <span>possible</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbles as he runs away from the accident, drunk enough not to think thoroughly of what he just did, clinging to the last amount of composure he has not to bend in two and spill the inside of his guts out in front of the boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s not stupid. He’s a murderer as of now, sure, but he’s not stupid enough to stay there, hovering over the person he just killed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he were, though, probably in a parallel universe, he’d have looked back to see him, maybe stopping himself on his tracks, but then he would’ve seen that the boy was not alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the night, darkness would’ve stared back at him, with reddened eyes that spoke hatred, disgust, disappointment; lit up by the flames that had begun to lick the pavement in which the boy laid, dead, his face would’ve contorted into one he’d never be able to forget, making an insomniac out of him, driving him mental for the rest of his days, if guilt hadn’t done so by then, haunting him until his last breath, for that figure, that face, and those wings, would’ve been unreal, out of this world, only envisioned by a mind gone mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that never happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As hazily and dazed as alcohol lets him walk, the man manages to flee from the city that same night, never looking back, missing how the boy becomes one with the darkness as if being held, lifted, and devoured by it slowly, in a matter of minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s far from the scene when the car explodes, but there’s no one to see it, to hear it, to feel the heat of its own very hell, unleashing rampantly against the concrete, burning the remnants of trash scattered along the street and a cigarette that consumes itself into a line of ashes, scattered by the wind for no one to see anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t die, oh</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The scent of lavender fills his nose, prompting his lips to stretch into a big smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though he cannot see her, having his face buried in her chest, he knows every little detail of the woman he’s hugging and receiving with his arms tightly enclosed around her body, not wanting to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her name is Bora, and she is the light of his life, a shiny star he admires deeply and the one he swears he can’t live without.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bora is his mother, and this is the happiest day of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook is used to doing this every night, it’s become a natural thing for him: he picks this day, among all of the ones he remembers so well, and plays it on a loop while he sleeps. Not allowing himself to change the season and its weather, its colors, temperature, or scents, Jungkook is careful not to mix and match dream stuff that could end up blowing up in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s smarter than that. He knows he’s not to play with dreams but to be played with and toyed around by them, instead. Their power, admired from afar by him, makes Jungkook stay on the line. He knows he could end up pissing off the god he believes in, the almighty guardian of dreams, by breaking the feeling of credibility dreams rarely give away for free, unleashing his wrath and losing his right— albeit insignificant— to dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of his worst fears is not being able to create this space for him and his mother’s memory. Not being able to create this space every night would be like losing her again, and Jungkook can’t afford that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d rather be dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook tightens the grip of his arms around his mother’s waist and tilts back his head just to take a better look at her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every detail he remembers comes to life, be it by rising from the ground, getting built mid-air by hands he knows he won’t see since they don’t exist (however, at the same time, they do), or by being birthed by geometric shapes he made sure to learn as a child, long time ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook doesn’t lose time as he hears the world revolving and creating itself not too far from them. He takes a step back to free himself from the hug and holds his mother’s arms, reluctant to let her go completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This day, this dream, he and his mother’s memory, is all he needs to keep on living.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had never existed a day where he couldn’t hug her. Night after night ever since he was a child, he’d greet the numbness happily, knowing what was to come. He’d let exhaustion take over his limbs, trapped tightly by unconsciousness, passing out instantly due to his constant state of exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jeon Bo Ra</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His mother looks back at him with her precious set of eyes he likes so much. He recognizes them as they are the spitting image of the ones he has owned all his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook caresses the smooth skin of his mother’s wrists, two rings of honeyed flesh peeking under her sleeves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has no marks there, she’ll never have them, not here, not ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook smiles widely at this, at the white lie he’s accustomed to telling himself, as this is the only thing in the world— both the oniric and the real one— he allows himself to be indulgent with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s fast to set his own age and height, making himself small enough for it to trigger her usual dialogue where she reassures him that she’s here to stay, to love him, and to play with him as long as he wants her to do so. Hugged tightly by her strong arms, burying his head on her chest again— where every child in this world finds refuge at least once in a lifetime— Jungkook is happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's a child again. She never killed herself. He'll be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her laughter bathes his soul with joy and Jungkook is truly happy. He needs nothing more but this. This promise of a secret life he can only imagine since reality just won’t budge, deeply buried inside of him, making what's left of him a place that reeks of recklessness, desire, decay; this is what he needs to set his soul on fire with a will he lost somewhere along the way, now deeply hidden inside of him, a will that manages to make him forget he has no desire to keep on living anymore. The deathwish he goes through every day ends up being forgotten while having his head buried in lavender-scented dreams where he can taste a hint of happiness that, to him - who’s stuck in a reality and a world he’s learned to hate so much -, feels like pure bliss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if it's an act of survival that his mind clings onto every night, exploiting whatever it's left of that worn-out memory; or if it's a dream prompted by his cowardness, resulting in an extension of his life by ignoring the fact that his life is no longer appealing to him; he doesn't complain. He'll take it. Hell, he'd take it for the rest of his life, if only he knew he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's never questioned nor doubted that dream realm, always labeled by him as a safe one. It provided him and his mother with everything that happened that day, minus the ending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook makes sure not to reach it, even if it’s almost impossible for him not to want it to last longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pushed his luck before. On times of need, days where he’s nothing but yearning, he lets himself be seduced by details he’s learned to cherish, by sights that bring nothing but pleasure, by things he’d kill not to have to let go of them. Knowing he’s lost track of time, he keeps convincing himself he’ll leave in a moment, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just a moment…</span>
  </em>
  <span> until he finds himself caught inside a dream gone bad, wanting to go back with no use, witnessing how everything twists and turns into a nightmare he wakes up from screaming and sobbing in pure fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t last forever, of course, having previously set his alarm clock with the only purpose of waking him up if needed. If this fails, he always relies on his noisy neighbor just above his apartment, who always gets up at five in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lately, though, around the time winter started, he’s been struggling to shake his feelings off, making it more and more difficult to fight back against his own oniric desires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this is not what he worries about. He’s usually in that place people often call ‘rock bottom’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. What worries him is the fact that there are days where he wakes up— not wailing nor shrieking, but breathing normally— recalling everything as if he were still looking directly at it, feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Empty, absent-minded, in a dormant state he has to battle with what’s left of him: the only thing with enough power to get him through all the enormous shit of life he’s been living all along.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bo Ra</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Long, long after they tire themselves by jumping in puddles of rain, having made a mess of their rubber boots, Jungkook and his mother are interrupted by a heavy cloud that looms on the horizon, lightening up with enough electricity to paint the sky with a white that makes them both shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What they think it’s just rain becomes a downpour in a jiff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook places both of his hands above his head and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She isn’t here, she—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook tries to look at her direction through the lines of water falling over him, clouding his sight.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>mother?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He feels her presence, jumping, and laughing around him, but he can’t see her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>what are you doing</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Calling her name out loud once,</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>mother</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>twice,</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>MOTHER</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>several times,</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>mommy</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>reaching out his arms to find her,</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i know you’re there</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>telling her how much he loves her, begging her to return to him, to quit playing and return to him, to her boy, her dear boy with a heart of gold, asking her</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>why did you leave me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>telling how small he really is and how badly things have turned out as of late, how weak he’s been feeling, how tired and confused he is, how he wishes to tell her </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you did nothing wrong</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>for he knows she was brave until the last minute, how strong he would’ve wanted to grow in order to take care of her and support her just like his father never did, along with many many more words he’s thought throughout all these years as an adult, realizing he couldn’t help her, he just couldn’t, he</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i was just a child</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>apologizes, and</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i’m sorry i couldn’t help you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>he pleads,</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>don’t leave me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>he cries, engulfed by a thick fog around him that constricts his chest tightly, presses his lungs, and suffocates him in a matter of seconds, taking everything away from him, just like death itself.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t give up just yet</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The scent of lavender fills his nose, prompting his lips to stretch in a big—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook doesn’t smile. He feels water running down his skin and clothes, ankles buried deep in a lake he’s never felt before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not in this dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his eyes and faces the woman standing in front of him, looking at her not minding the tears ready to bloom and fall from his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s raining heavily upon them, unlike any other dream he’s ever had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook tries to speak but a smoldering heat flows through his veins, scorching his insides with a fire that spreads slowly, painfully through his entire body, hurting him in a way he could never imagine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat burns but he still manages to call her name out as loud as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The breath he lets out barely reaches her, not strong nor fast enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing still with the water level rising so quickly, Jungkook starts to panic. He grasps his mother’s arm, aggressively sinking his fingers into her skin and bones, dissolving her limb with just his touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook’s eyes snap open with disbelief</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i need to get out of here</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Trees, branches, rocks, and pretty much everything this park held on its earthy ground begin to float around him, </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i need to get out</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>moving his small body, hitting him here and there as he becomes aware of his imminent death, activating on the spot every survival strategies he knows, which are not many, but he doesn’t stop to think for he needs to</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>get out get out get out</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As his dream reaches its own ending, darkness finds its way to his lungs, cutting his airways and making them bleed on the inside, forcing him to release mouthfuls of air he intended to save for later</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>wake up</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook waves his limbs, desperately trying to get hold of something</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you’re dreaming idiot wake up</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jungkook’s soul struggles inside his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wants out, as souls are to do the instant they’re of no use anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dream he’s having over and over is just an old strategy that creative souls tend to execute to fasten the whole dying process, hurrying themselves to get out, frightened enough not to want to stay a little longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jungkook’s soul is struggling. It can’t get out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand covers Jungkook’s mouth and another one pushes him hard on his chest, just above his rib cage where his heart pumps the last beats of its own song. Blood flows through the hand’s fingers, garnished with silver rings and bracelets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing great, boy. Hang in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand resting against Jungkook’s chest releases a cold, faint light. It lits up inside his torso and it crawls up, now reaching his neck, lighting up empty veins and muscles, already getting stiff; when the light reaches the hand over his mouth, it struggles to keep its grip, forcing the angel to curse and press it down with much more force than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going anywhere. Not on my watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You were only delicate and fragile</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You, child with a heart of gold,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please forgive me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A bell tolls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound cascades from a high place— a place Jimin has never seen nor wants to see— and it bathes the Citadel. Its echo bounces against every wall, sneaking in through his house's windows and floors, resonating inside his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin wakes up at the vibrations but refuses to open his eyes. The sun bathes his skin and eyelids, making him feel the warmth of an early morning. His room is a little cold to his taste, having the silk sheets around him barely covering half of his bottom, and he's stubborn as a cupid should naturally be, refusing to move, ignoring the bell as hard as he can, telling himself this is a dream, a very annoying one, and it’ll end up soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How annoying,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, frowning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I shouldn’t have slept late… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand caresses his back, long fingers climbing up his wings’ pale pink feathers, sending a shiver up his spine. Jimin feels a new weight sitting by the bed’s corner, followed by a stare that he welcomes by stretching his arms, previously resting under his chin, a bit cramped by the position he was in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His memory blesses him with memories from last night, painting his mind rosy pink, filling it with delicious sounds he emulates internally with almost no effort. He remembers his high-pitched voice dripping down his plump lips, their crimson skin so close to bleeding, his body climbing near an edge he’s found himself lost in many times before, then… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin opens his eyes slowly, batting his eyelashes to the man sitting by him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin’s smile is wide, with his pearly white set of teeth showing. He makes a wish on the spot and he flaps his wings at the man’s touch, already by his rear. He hopes his intentions are the same as yesterday’s, but when Jimin feels the silk around his body, covering his skin— instead of what he loves the most, which is being naked— an alarm sets off inside his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the man’s clothes, Jimin closes his mouth instantly and prompts his elbows against the bed to look at him better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realization hits him hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re leaving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bell tolls again. Jimin’s lover sighs loudly and looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way his frown tenses rings a bell inside Jimin's heart, and he hates to admit it, but its sound resembles the one he's hearing outside his home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tenses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yoongi—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward to kiss him on his forehead, Yoongi finds Jimin moving away from his kiss. “Darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>darling </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, don’t do that,” he fumes, already sitting up and looking for his sleeping gown. He wonders why there are too many sets of clothes on the floor, but doesn’t bother to ask. “I can’t believe you’re leaving off to work after you promised me an entire week of us,</span>
  <em>
    <span> just us.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated, Jimin,” Yoongi starts explaining, following him around their bedroom. “The bell is calling us, they need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin stops his pace as soon as he’s halfway dressed and turns slowly, stopping Yoongi in his tracks. Two golden eyes looking straight at him tell him not to come any closer unless he wants his wings, hands, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>both, </span>
  </em>
  <span>chopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bell, as if knowing, tolls again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll explain it all to you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jimin shakes his head and plants himself on the floor he’s standing, wearing nothing but his gown, a strap falling off one of his shoulders. “Not later. Tell me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yoongi gulps at the sight, feeling his throat tighten. Desire crawls from his insides but he knows better: his eyes flee immediately from Jimin’s exposed shoulder, meeting a lump of clothes he tossed away while getting ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what is much more important than this week— the only week you swore you had </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>free,” Jimin stops at every word, emphasizing them to show him what’s already aching inside his disheartened chest. “You couldn’t have forgotten. That is not like you. You never forget.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows. And he’s hurting as well, his mind running amok trying to find the fastest explanation that could sum up every damn worry inside his mind. If he could, he’d stay inside this bedroom with him for eons, and Jimin knows that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as smart as he knows Jimin is, he guesses he should know, too, that it’s not his decision to leave him at this hour, at this wonderful sight of him standing there, barely wearing nothing but a piece of cloth he’d be glad to rip off or take off delicately (depending on Jimin’s mood), seeing him all day under his dark gaze, beautiful as ever; even if he’s mad and giving him hell right now, asking and begging for an explanation, Yoongi’s heart thumps inside his chest, singing quietly all the pet names he’s chosen for him and only him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never forget,” Yoongi murmurs, agreeing with him, taking the time he doesn’t have to choose his words carefully. He wants to give him an answer, but he’s learned to be careful with the information he’s been given at the Council since it’s all very private and it’s nobody’s business but </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You know what I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin presses his mouth in a thin line. “A Vasili.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yoongi nods, tilting his head just a little bit, not to show him any kind of superiority.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I have no saying in this.” Silence falls between them but it’s broken by the bell. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The damn thing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jimin thinks, bitterly. He manages a simple nod, but it’s a weak one. “Say it. Tell me you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin scoffs, his will not bending. His shoulders go up, then down, and he sighs again, rolling his eyes. “I guess—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice gets cut by Yoongi’s lips pressing his’, his scent clouding his senses, and his hands, gripping him by the waist, tightly enough for him to open his mouth to Yoongi’s tongue, lapping his’ with an urgency he devours and takes as his own. Jimin lets out a hoarse sound when he feels Yoongi’s fingers card near the juncture where his wings and skin meet, a spot he’s learned never fails to set Jimin on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breaking the memory of their kiss, now broken, eyes unfocused and mouth red with desire, Jimin gets a hold of himself and whispers: “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yoongi smirks, still holding him close, and presses his forehead against his lover’s. “I’ll be back soon. Will you wait for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I always do,” the cupid smiles, content, but as soon as Yoongi’s hands leave his body, his mouth getting far from his own, his heart gets heavier and heavier, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is how we always say goodbye,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jimin’s mind doesn’t fail to notice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But this time… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know,” Yoongi says as he fastens his quiver’s belt across his chest. He fixes his harness tightly around his wings and body, then makes sure he’s got everything with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimin follows Yoongi to their home’s entrance when he’s done double-checking everything and then kisses him one last time, so quick it’s over before it’s even started, taking a few steps back inside their home when he sees his lover’s crimson wings expanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under this sun they look exactly how Jimin has always pictured them inside his mind, resembling two strange cherries he’d love to sink his teeth into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last smile Yoongi gives him before taking off is a goofy, strained one, making Jimin smile back at him, endeared, blurring the worries that fill his heart— but not making them disappear completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s out of sight, Jimin goes back inside and closes his front door, leaning against it with both of his hands reaching the tips of his wings. His gaze falls upon his feet and he doesn’t realize he’s been like this for minutes until he hears a loud thud coming from his bedroom, crashing through a glass he identifies as the most precious thing he’d never like to see in pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not my mirror!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he cries out, taking flight and rushing upstairs to see what’s going on. “Please, not my mirror!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Follow me @ <a href="https://twitter.com/CYANE94/">twt</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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